


Pledge

by starzandstrip3s



Category: Batman (1966), Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: AU, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Brentwood Academy, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Characters Reimagined, Dick Grayson is Robin, Gotham, Hazing, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, POV First Person, Protests, Social Commentary, Social Justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starzandstrip3s/pseuds/starzandstrip3s
Summary: Although a prestigious institution in Gotham, Brentwood Academy also possesses a lengthy history of dirty secrets and scandal that a majority of citizens are unaware of. However, when the closing initiation ritual for the fraternity on campus goes horribly wrong and the news is thrust out into the open, wanted rogues Zodiac and Calendar Man take it upon themselves to incite change when no one else will.





	Pledge

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> It's odd to finally be done with this story. I've been working on this one for a few months now, definitely my longest so far!
> 
> Shout-out to Kate for being my editor, much appreciated as always. 
> 
> Also, hope everyone has a very happy pride month!!
> 
> With that said, let's go!
> 
> -Meg
> 
> (Copyright Disclaimer: This work is purely a fan-made interpretation of the Batman universe and its canon elements, all trademarked by DC Comics. There is no claimed ownership over any of the mentioned characters which the interpretations derive from. As such, this story is made for entertainment purposes only).

 

**September 28th**

**11:54PM**

 

Stuffing my hands deeper into my pockets, I shiver as we march along the walkway of the bridge. A truck speeds past on my left, honking at us as they disappear onto the other side.

 

Besides the occasional car or motorcycle, the midnight hour was a dead time around here.                                                         

 

“You smell that, Doug?” Jason calls from the front of the group, glancing over his shoulder at me. “That’s the scent of past victory.”                              

 

I swallow, leaning over the rail to eye the choppy water below. Trying to see the bottom, I focus on a spot and fight to see through the blackness. However, my own reflection only glimmers up at me instead.       

 

“If you say so,” I reply distractedly, jumping when an arm lands on my shoulder. Matt grins at me, pulling me along to meet his stride.  

 

“Frosty’s right, you’re just about to seal the deal,” he nods, referring to the fraternity leader. Everyone had a fun nickname around here, Jason being given his because of frost-tipped hair. The other guys liked to give him hell about being way out of style, but it’s not like that ruined his popularity. If anything, it made him more of a chick-magnet. Just ask his goddess of a girlfriend, Brooke. If I was guaranteed a friend of hers, I would worship the frost-tip way of life.                 

 

In the meantime, I feel like the clan of them are leading me towards my execution. A thought not too far off, considering that Arkham Island and its creepy asylum are within sight. Not sure if they kill off any insane people there, but it wouldn’t be surprising.   

 

“Remind me again what I have to do,” I whisper to Matt, who is humming the school anthem to himself with bravado.  

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What do I have to do again?” I repeat, feeling my stomach churn anxiously at the same time.

 

“Oh. It’s real easy. Just down a half-pint of vodka. Then, walk blindfolded along the ledge of the bridge until you reach the next lamp post.”

 

My insides lurch at the instructions, but I move onto another question.  

 

“Is it safe?” I manage to stutter out at last, looking up at him to gage his reaction.

 

Matt laughs loudly, rumbling over the chatter of the others up ahead. He ruffles my hood with his other hand.  

 

“Of course! We’ll all be stationed around you to do any saving if necessary. The worst thing that has happened was when a pledger twisted his ankle, around a year ago. Apparently he wasn’t too shaken up, partied the next day. A new man with no worries.”           

 

“Nothing else has gone wrong?”

 

“Well, that’s allI know about. My older brother was in that chapter during the time. Even if something goes wrong, keeping it quiet is better for everyone, you know? Jason doesn’t want to scare off anyone who wants to join, some of these kids have wanted to be a part of this family for years. Wouldn't want to ruin that for them before even meeting us."       

 

He removes his arm from my shoulder and gives me a light push in front of him, making me stumble on shaking legs for a moment before falling into an attempted normal saunter. I know he’s kidding, but I can’t help but feel worse.    

 

I manage a fake laugh, wiping my palms on my jeans before letting them rest at my sides.

 

“Right, I get it.”

 

I do. As for agreeing with it?  

 

Not so much.

 

It’s not long later when Jason turns around and halts us to a stop at the middle of the bridge. He motions me to stand beside him at the ledge, facing the other guys.    

 

“My friends!” he begins, clapping his hands together, “Tonight we close our initiation for Brother Douglas, if he is successful in this last act of loyalty. Over the past week, he has proved himself a promising member of Alpha Ren Nu.”              

 

He holds out a hand to another, I think his name is Chad. His pre-Brentwood name. As stereotypical as it is, he was obviously destined to be a part of the group. Names can really shape a person’s path.         

 

Chad passes over a paper bag on one knee, and Jason holds it up dramatically with a swirl of his hand.

 

“Behold!” Jason cries, blue eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark under the spotlight of the streetlamp above. “Delicious poison! May it make our time together worthwhile...”       

 

“And, bind our trust forever,” the others recite with dedication.   

 

I try not to wrinkle my nose at how cringy that was, rubbing my face into my sleeve instead.   

 

“Wonderful. If we can get the goblet up here, let’s get this party started,” Jason says, before turning to me.

 

“The best way to do it is to hold your nose and just throw it back. That’s what everyone does,” he winks, slapping my arm playfully and leaning into the wall between us. 

 

Meanwhile, everything worth freaking out over has been passed my way.      

 

“Look-uh, Jason. I have something to tell you,” I confess as quietly as possible, hoping he will take the hint to make this private.  

 

He raises an eyebrow quizzically, before running a hand through his styled blond locks.

 

“What’s up? You’re not giving up now, are you? You're so close!”

 

“No. Not giving up... exactly.”   

 

Jason turns back to me, a frown beginning to appear as he watches me try to spit it out.

 

“I...I can’t. Uh....swim. I can’t swim.”

 

“What do you mean you can’t swim?”  

 

“I just never learned how, man.”

 

He lets out a long sigh, and I can tell he is disappointed. Maybe even a little frustrated at this point.

 

“What do you want me to say to that, Douglas?”

 

I think about it, not totally sure. If being honest, I thought this secret might stop the process all together.    

 

“Just wanted to give you a heads-up, so that we could be extra careful. Or, whatever,” I lie instead, finding the sidewalk particularly interesting as of now.     

 

“I mean, there is only so much I can do for you to accommodate,” he replies plainly. “It wouldn’t be fair if I treated you differently from any others.”

 

“Oh.”  

 

“Yeah. You could back out at this point...but that doesn’t look too good on either of us, don’t you think?” 

 

I ball my hands up into fists, my jaw tight. As much as I want to walk away, the determination to finish this wins out.

 

I just want to feel like a man for once. Is that so bad?  

 

I give in, no longer carrying on the silence that now has become awkwardly uncomfortable.     

 

“Hold my nose. Throw it back. Got it,” I repeat to him after a moment, raising my chin.

 

“Thatta boy,” he approves warmly, and is handed the tacky school goblet before I can say anything more.  

 

 Jason removes the vodka from the paper bag, placing the goblet beside him. Unscrewing the bottle-cap he raises the drink to the group.  

 

“To Brother Douglas, a man of his word!” 

 

As he fills the goblet to the brim, the others whoop and cheer in typical fraternity style. I try to smile, when on the inside the thought of being a lightweight is the current fact calling for my attention.   

 

Ignoring the thought, I reach out to raise the goblet to my lips, pinching my nose with the other hand. I tilt the drink forward, squeezing my eyes shut as the alcohol is swallowed down in huge swigs. Right away, I feel my head spin and my limbs become tingly.   

 

This is not good.  

 

Not good at....all.

 

All.

 

That’s the word.

 

Around me, the others continue to praise and chant away. I’m just about done when I see Jason grab something from the corner of my eye.  

 

I lean against the wall, and through my blurring vision I can at least sense it’s a bandana.

 

“The poison has been consumed!” Jason exclaims, gesturing at me as though I did some sort of impressive magic trick.

 

Well, it kind of was.

 

“Now, let’s have our pledger _really_ show off!”

 

Jason steps toward me with the bandana, raising it between his hands at eye level.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Of course,” I cooly retort, much to his amusement.

 

“Alright then, see you on the other side!”

 

He untucks the hood from my head, placing the black material over my eyes and knotting it tightly at the back. I then feel myself being picked up from either side under each armpit before being set down on the ledge. The concrete is freezing against my thighs, and I grunt to myself.

 

My head hurts.  

 

The presence around me doesn’t leave just yet, this being confirmed when a voice in front of me speaks.   

 

“Okay, we are going to ease you up to your feet now. We’re both here, and there will be a few more guys lined up along the way to help until the finish line. Got it?”

 

“Just brilliant, gentlemen,” I drawl out lazily, but otherwise am still focused. If I can think clearly enough, I should be able to not make a total fool out of myself.     

 

At least, that’s the plan.

 

“On three,” says another, and I prepare my legs to stand. We follow through, and at last I’m standing on the ledge of Westward Bridge.  

 

In the middle of the night.

 

Blindfolded.

 

Drunk.

 

_Hooray._

 

“Doug, put your hands out!” Jason calls from somewhere close by, and I follow his instruction.

 

“Perfect! Now, just take your time with little steps forward. The ledge is wide, so just try to go as straight as possible.”    

 

Through my fog, I think I snort at how stupid that advice sounds, based on my current situation.

 

I must have said that out loud, because I hear Matt chuckling somewhere.    

 

Making my way forward, I go with a shuffle technique that is stiff as can be managed for someone who just chugged a half-pint of vodka. It must be doing some good, for the guys are sounding genuinely impressed during all of this. A couple of times, I feel a hand grab mine in order to steady me. Either than that, I’m walking the tightrope solo.    

 

After what seems like hours later, Jason interjects through the looping yell of my name and some ridiculous song.

 

“Three quarters there!”   

 

It took me longer than I should to have figured out that’s what he said, as everything from my thoughts to the deafening thump of my chest are muddy now.  

 

Just as I set my foot down again, I hear a panicked yell before the wall goes falling away from my feet.

 

I don’t even have time to realize it is _me_ who has fallen into the unforgiving waters before it’s too late, my arms sluggishly moving through the water, my lungs screaming at the intrusion. Somehow realizing my foot is stuck between a couple of boulders at the bottom of the river, I attempt over and over to swim away, but my whole ankle has become lodged in the rock pile.  

 

Just before I lose consciousness, my blindfold loosens and floats up to the surface. The last things I see is are the comforting glow of the street-lamps and a dozen blurry faces above.                            

 

**September 29th**

**12:23PM**

 

Spotting everyone already seated at a back table when peeking through the window, I quickly jog over to the restaurant doors. The bell chimes as I make my way in, the smell of grease and spices in the air.                               

 

“Sorry I’m late,” I greet, falling into a seat between Marco and Cassie. She squeals, leaning over  to give me a hug, and he smacks me playfully on the back. The waitress must have been hovering near our table, since a moment later I’m made to choose a drink off the menu before she quickly makes her way to the counter at the back, pushing through throngs of people.     

 

Looking across the table, Ethan is already watching me as he takes a sip out his cola.   

 

“Nice of you to show up.”

 

I lean my arms on the dingy table and offer my best watt-winning smile, something that usually helps me get my way with other people.      

 

“Well, it wouldn’t be as nice if I came when expected. Making it a surprise is _key_.”

 

He fights a smile, drawing invisible shapes into the checkered tablecloth.     

 

“Is that how it works?”     

 

“You could say that.”     

 

The waitress comes back with my sweet tea and takes everyone’s orders, finishing with me last. She cracks a joke about it being punishment for keeping the rest of my group waiting, before moving on to the table behind us. I make a face at her once she turns her back, leading to Cassie scolding me like the mother hen she is, despite being a year younger than I am and several inches shorter.   

 

We all settle into both typical and random topics as we wait for our food. Like, how work is going, if we have done anything interesting lately. Stuff that normal people talk about when meeting up with those they call friends.  

 

But, that’s the thing.

 

Ethan and I aren't _normal_ people.

 

Dressing up in costume, causing trouble around the city, and sometimes being tracked down by a man in a bat helmet are not really parts of your life that can be casually mentioned to friends.

 

Or, in our case, outsiders that we will attempt to protect on the side, but will likely not be able save from other rogues if we’re in danger.

 

An understood agreement between Ethan and I.

 

It’s not that we don’t care about them, or think their lives have no importance. Of course not. We just know that the two sides of our lives can only overlap so much before it becomes a problem.  

 

Call us heartless all you want, but that’s just how it is if you want a target off your back.     

 

Luckily, we have rehearsed truth so much that talking about ourselves is well-executed routine instead improv lying each time. The only way I can come up with a proud lie on the spot is through flirting, and Ethan shuts down into an awkward mess.        

 

Much more than he can already be.               

 

“What have you been up to, Ethan?” Zoey questions, pushing a lock of purple streaks behind her ear, before resting her cheek on her fist. “Has your boss given you a promotion yet?”

 

Beside her, Ethan smiles close-mouthed as he usually does, before glancing over to her.  

 

“Not yet, but I don’t mind. I’ve always liked working in the projector room. Celluloid doesn’t talk back.”        

 

Marco agrees beside me, then reaches to the center of the table to grab a roll and shoves it into his mouth. 

 

“Have you ever messed up?” he asks, his mouth full. “You know, put in the wrong reel on accident or something? Old people can get _real_ cranky.”    

 

Cassie sips her tea, placing it on the saucer with a manicured hand. She leans over across me, towards Marco.  

 

“How do you know it’s all old people?”

 

“Who else goes to Aragon?” Marco replies, crumbs spewing all over the table.    

 

“It _is_ old people for the most part,” Ethan says to Cassie, “Although, we do get some private showings for film societies here and there. It’s really an amazing theatre, it being a historical attraction and all.”    

 

“You never answered the question,” Zoey adds.

 

Ethan arches an eyebrow, tilting his head.

 

“If I have ever messed up?”

 

I grin, turning to Marco, who is now building a tower out of butter containers.

 

“Someone is avoiding the question,” I whisper, and he smirks to himself as he concentrates on his tier.    

 

Ethan snaps his gaze up to me.  

 

“I’m not!”

 

He drums his fingertips on the table, before nodding to Marco. 

 

“One weekend we were scheduled to play _Gone With The Wind_ for a matinee. I got it going, and was watching along from the control booth.”

 

He pauses, fiddling with the cuff of his blazer as he continues. I sit back, knowing how the rest is going to play out. Ethan is not that willing to admit when he has screwed up, but is at least humble enough to admit it if enough time has passed. My favourite phase is when he still hasn’t lived it down, but is made to talk about it anyway.    

 

Like now, for example.

 

He takes a long sip from his drink.  

 

“Anyway, I was feeling quite lousy. Johnny and I were up late the night before, because-”

 

Marco pulls his beanie over his ears, dramatically looking out one eye.  

 

“Do we really need to know? My virgin ears!”

 

“Can the virgin card be used if you don’t care about that business in the first place?” Zoey asks him, leading him to put up a shushing finger at her. Everyone laughs, before Cassie jumps in to break it up.        

 

“Go on, Ethan!” 

 

He continues with a slight blush, hesitantly. “So, we had both been up until sunrise....doing overtime shifts.”

 

Ethan looks over to me at the last part, as if searching for a thumbs up or something. To mess with him, I just stare at him blankly. He looks away, and I quickly grab a roll of my own to distract myself from that satisfying inside joke.              

 

“Therefore, I was still a bit tired when I came in,” Ethan carefully went on to explain. “If you know anything about this film, it’s about four hours long. I can’t leave when any feature is running, as the machine is old and can jam sometimes. Fast forward, the film is about a quarter way through and I’m falling asleep on the projector. I must have at some point, though, because suddenly-”     

 

He runs a hand through his hair, leaving a hand on his neck.

 

“My supervisor comes in to see what is taking so long for the frozen picture to sync up. He shakes me awake, and I’m so startled that...I- I...knocked over the hundred year old projector onto the floor and broke it.”       

 

Everyone, including me, break out into a mortified laugh track, a few jokes of reassurance being offered by the girls.         

 

“I had to help him put it back together that night,” I manage to spit out between giggles, “Tell them how long ago this happened, Ethan.”  

 

“About two weeks ago,” he mutters. Another wave of sweet talk and pats are given to my boyfriend, who looks embarrassed but not like he wants to melt into his seat, as he probably wanted to do when I drove him home that day.     

 

We get our food shortly after, diving into it and excitedly talking in between bites. I’m sharing a huge platter of nachos with Marco, arguing with him over a chip, when Cassie gets my attention to ask about the music festival we went to last month.    

 

Just as I’m telling her the saga of finding our lost tickets, my attention is caught on the flat screen in the corner.    

 

UPDATE: BRENTWOOD STUDENT FOUND UNDER WESTWARD BRIDGE VICTIM OF FRATERNITY RITUAL 

 

The TV flickers between footage of the GCPD surrounding a body bag on a gurney, and a reporter standing on what must be the bridge. It then shows a few pictures of the victim, a short kid no older than eighteen, short afro hair and dimpled smile.    

 

“You know anything about that?” I curiously ask Cassie, who is facing away from the TV.

 

She turns her bronze head around, reads the screen, then faces me.     

 

“Not really, only people who grew up in Gotham seem to know what’s going on,” she frowns, “Whatever it is, it’s not looking good for Brentwood Academy. That’s all the news has been talking about since we got here.”            

 

Taking her hint, I get Ethan’s attention.

 

“Hey, what’s this ritual that Brentwood is known for? You grew up here, ever hear of anything?”

 

Swallowing a bite of his veggie burger, he picks up the napkin beside him and wipes away a glob of ketchup that came off on his thumb.  

 

“Whenever they are swearing in a new candidate into their fraternity, the students seal their allegiance to the group by walking a section of Westward bridge at midnight, intoxicated and blindfolded. If they can make it to the next lamp post, they’re in.”        

 

I blink, trying to absorb that piece of Gotham history. Maybe it’s because I grew up in a small town, but that’s just the most city-logic thing I’ve ever heard.    

 

Actually, the people I knew did do stunts and everything, but it never went so extreme that anyone _died_ because of it. Jumping off a barn roof into a pond for fun is far different from a bridge hung hundreds of feet in the air. Just to be part of a clique.      

 

“How long has this been going on? Fifty years or something?” Zoey questions. “It’s always like that in other stories.”       

 

“No, not at all,” replies Ethan, “It only started going on when a student began leading the house a few years ago, I think.”       

 

I scratch the stubble on my cheek and watch the screen again. They are now interviewing someone, by the name of Jason Sanders. He is giving the reporter a remorseful look, a hand over his heart, but there is something off about him. Just as I’m about to throw out the thought, Ethan points at the TV.    

 

“That’s him right there. Jason Sanders.”

 

The ticker on the bottom of the screen then transitions into a new headline.

 

DROWNING OF VICTIM “TRAGIC INCIDENT IN OTHERWISE SAFE HISTORY OF THE PLEDGE” CLAIMS FRATERNITY LEADER  

 

“Safe history?” I repeat aloud, “You've got to be kidding.”      

 

“Agreed,” Zoey answers. “But, whatever has happened is probably not going to slow down the pledge any time soon. An old friend of mine used to go to Brentwood, another all boys academy. Until Friday nights, at least. Lots of dirty laundry around there, I guess. Students threatened with being expelled if they don’t keep quiet. Blackmailing parents when they want to sue. The school doesn’t want want to freak out their rich patrons, or get a smudge of bad reputation on those pretentious uniforms. It’s really fucked up.”                        

 

I grimace, putting down the chip that I was about to put into my mouth. Not really that hungry anymore. If that’s even possible.

 

“Surely the police, their school board...anybody has looked into what’s going on with the fraternity since this moron has been ringleader.”   

 

Zoey mimics my expression, her piercings shifting as she does so.

 

“Even if they did, clearly nothing has been done about it. Brentwood has their bases covered.”   

 

We all pick at the rest of our food, the conversation moving on to some renovations Marco was doing at his vinyl shop. I would be all in to listen to what he’s planning, but I’m still mulling over the _incident_.

 

Taking out my phone, I shoot off a text to Ethan across from me.         

 

_we’re getting involved into the brentwood case_

 

I’m patient as he discusses something with Zoey for a few minutes, before she gets up to go have a smoke, leaving him alone for the moment. I take the opportunity to catch his eye.    

 

“ _Phone,_ ” I mouth to him, and he looks away before fishing into his pocket.   

 

He then looks up to me after reading my message.       

 

“ _We’ll talk later_ ,” he mimes back.                  

  
  
  
**September 29th**

**3:35PM**

 

I shut the apartment door behind me, following Ethan into our bedroom. He sits on the bed,  leaning back onto his hands. 

 

“So, we’re getting involved?” he states bluntly more than asks, nodding up to me. “It’s a legitimate case, I’m just unsure of what is needed for this one. If we have the qualifications necessary.”   

 

“Ethan, since when does it matter if we’re _qualified_?”   

 

“Well, I don’t see how targeting the ignorant and drugging them is going to help right now. In a situation of social injustice where that could be useful for a quick fix, sure.”    

 

He pauses, glancing at the ceiling as he tries to put together the rest.   

 

“But, this? It needs more than a unreliable spark that might not help at all.”  

 

“Of course, that’s why we are going all in by passing on a _torch_!” I grin, rubbing my hands together.   

 

Ethan gapes up at me, understanding a beat later.

 

“We’re getting the students involved,” he states to himself, before shaking his head with a wrinkled brow. “You want to orchestrate a campus protest against the pledge?”    

 

I lean over to ruffle his hair as he sits there perplexed.

 

“I love having a handsome man around with a few extra brain cells.” 

 

“But, remember what Zoey said about confidentiality? They will surely face consequences even if they just participate.”

 

He leans forward, clapping his hands under his chin in thought.

 

“Then, there is the whole issue of not being able to protest anywhere on the property in the first place. We could post online?”    

 

The point about not having the means to lead a demonstration on Brentwood ground, even if following all uptight rules to do it elsewhere and get away with at least one offence, is true. But, I doubt most people would go out of their way to commute to what we’re planning. We have to bring it to them. And, I want to be directly involved. Not just record myself ranting at a camera and then call it a day.  

 

Most importantly, I feel confident that we can intervene if tainted records and reputations are involved. However, that intervention could be something not needed at all. It’s not like whoever would be stopping the protest can expel and charge dozens of students and their well-off families. I have a feeling that all that’s needed for change is a little rebellious push for these kids to take a risk or two. 

 

Brentwood fighting back would only emphasize the lack of justice more, after all.          

 

I mean, my gut could be wrong. Let’s not get full of myself here.  

 

On the other hand.

 

I didn’t get this way from being more wrong than right.  

 

“Okay, so we may not have qualifications that are basic as cleared freedom of speech. That’s all the more to prowl the town and have a little fun, don’t you think?” I tease, throwing my arms out in a careless gesture, as my reasoning process probably sounds like at the moment to him.    

 

Ethan exhales a puff slowly, zoning out at the carpet under his toes. 

 

“Well, I’m intrigued in seeing where this goes...”

 

“Hey, good enough for me.”

 

He ignores me, getting up to think this proposal out.  

 

“Okay, first of  all we need is a way in. We can’t just show up at the campus and start a scene right away...”

 

Leaning against the wall behind me, I watch him meander to the window and back toward me a couple of times, muttering quietly to himself with hands in his back pockets.

 

He stops, pivoting to me with a mischievous expression.   

 

“Ever see _21 Jump Street_?”        

 

**October 1st**

**10:13PM**

 

Walking up to the frat house, we go over the second stage of the plan one last time. Ahead of us, the place is fully lit up for another weekend of partying, the deafening bass a sign that we arrived at a good time. People stand around on the lawn, orange solo cups in one hand and a blunt in the other for a few. 

 

“In an hour, the event notification for a bonfire in the courtyard will be set to post onto Brentwood’s Facebook page. A majority of people here follow it, expect a lot of people,” I explain, scanning the scene in front of us. “That should give us plenty of time to scope the house out, find and deal with Jason, then get to the front.”            

 

I adjust my cap, watching as some clearly wasted girl runs across the street with a paper bag over her head and toilet plunger in hand, shrieking into the night.   

 

“How do you know that people will show up?”

 

I glance over to him, and he meets my gaze with a skeptical but interested look. I adjust a setting on my watch. It beeps twice, before glowing a faint blue. 

 

“Brentwood is the host of outrageously popular bonfires when it’s nice out. They advertise it constantly. I just chose a weekend where one wasn’t going on, and made it seem like it was an official posting.”      

 

“So, that’s all it took for incentive,” Ethan comments, leading the way up the front walkway. A guy with a bong stumbles past me, then pukes into the bushes.   

 

“Well, that and the promise of s’mores.”   

 

“What? Did you actually bring supplies for s’mores?”

 

I let out a laugh as we walk inside, checking out the floor plan from the entryway we’re currently in.    

 

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.”      

 

Through an archway on the right, there is a living room area with groups of people lounging everywhere or standing close to yell over the stereo. Straight ahead is a large open kitchen with alcohol lined up on the island, along with a staircase in reach just in front of us.  

 

Smirking at him, I pull the phone out of my pocket to check the time.   

 

“Okay, I’ll take upstairs. You mingle,” I throw over my shoulder as I start climbing.

 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do that,” is the sarcastic reply I get he heads towards the kitchen.     

 

Once at the top, I consider both directions to decide my first move. There were six rooms up here, and who knows if Jason would be up here at the moment. I lean against the banister that overlooks the entryway for a moment, before just going for the door in front of me.

 

Peeking inside, I figure out it’s the bathroom first, and quickly notice it’s taken right after when the couple sloppily making out in the bathtub notice me.

 

The man-child throws his beer can at me just as I close the door, the muffled bang on the other side near my head.

 

“And, stay out!” he yells, as the girl dissolves into a cackle.  

 

I mentally check off that room as searched.  

 

One down, five to go. 

 

This was going to be a long night.  

 

**October 1st**

**10:45AM**

 

A half hour later, and still no sign of our target. Just some empty bedrooms and this storage room. I’m just looking through some documents scattered around when my pocket vibrates.

 

I fish it out of my denim jacket, a bit of a stretch considering the find was a little small to begin with, and open the convo.  

 

_Any updates? I’ve checked the whole downstairs and am outside now. Apparently, he was last seen in the backyard, so I’m heading there now._

 

Tossing the stack I was reading back into a box, I head over to the window that overlooks the backyard. It has a large patio, complete with cheap colourful lanterns. A kegstand is on the grass, with a lineup going on. Flicking back to the crowded patio, I saw a few guys that could be him, but it’s hard to tell from up here.    

 

_good idea. im almost done here will meet you soon_

 

I leave the storage room and head to the end of the hallway where another closed door meets me.

 

Knocking, I get no answer.   

 

Once I open the door, prepared to get something thrown at me this time, I find another bedroom. As usual, snooping is the next course of action. I pass by the unmade bed and take a look at the  corkboard on the wall. Just some pictures of the fraternity and coupons for food. I take a coupon for half-off sundaes at the golden arches, and put it into the pocket of my costume pants underneath for safe keeping. It was set to expire soon, might as well go to someone who will actually use it.   

 

Turning around, I approach the dresser and shift through its contents on top for anything useful. Besides a phone charger, a snowman decoration, and a bottle expensive looking cologne, nothing else stands out.       

 

Clearly, this room wasn’t very helpful either, just as the entire floor had been. Besides the backyard, the only place left was the garage. It was worth a shot, even if we’re running out of time.

 

I head downstairs, passing a brunette with a swinging ponytail on the way.  

 

“Hey,” I call at the last second to her, “You know where the garage is?”

 

She points to a door beside where we came in, across from the living room.

 

“Over there. I’m guessing you’re Brian? Jason was asking about you just now, he asked you to get more beer from the garage a while ago.”  

 

I perk up at the mention of Jason’s name, especially because she had just run into him. Why was it that everyone _not_ looking for him had seen him around? If anyone should have a double life of running from the police, it should be this guy, he was doing pretty well.  

 

“Yeah, that’s me,” I grin sheepishly, “As you can see, I can get kind of distracted by pretty faces.”

 

She gives me a gap-toothed smile.   

 

“Same here. It’s a hard life, isn’t it?”

 

“Definitely. Where is he now? So, I can let him know I’m on it.”

 

“He was in the kitchen, but I doubt he’s still there. I would just get the stuff and hunt him down later.” 

 

“That’s the plan. Thanks for the help.”

 

I give a wave before we part, heading to my destination. Pulling open the heavy door, I let it crunch back into place behind me.

 

Standing in the dark on the stairs, I fumble around for a lightswitch or something until I feel a chain above my head. Tugging on it, a few fluorescent tubes hum to life.

 

There’s a fridge beside me, as I guessed there would be. However, what catches my eye is the blue Lamborghini.   

 

I practically skip down the stairs to go check it out, running my hand over the hood. It’s nice.

 

Real nice.

 

Just as I’m looking inside at the interior, the garage door swings open with a low groan.

 

“Brian! There you are! Let me help with - wait, you’re not Brian.”

 

Looking behind me, I can’t help but feel a rush of excitement.

 

The man of the hour!

 

Jason stands on the steps, looking down at me. I stand up and make my way over to him, reaching out my hand.

 

“Sorry I’m not who you’re looking for. Although, it’s so awesome to finally meet you, buddy. Greg Thomas.”    

 

He grasps my hand tightly, to obviously show off his strong grip. I loosen mine in return. If you give your target the upper hand at first, it makes things easier as you turn tables.

 

“Jason Sanders. I see you were checking out my car, not that I blame you,” he beams, glancing over at his prize.

 

“Yeah! Have you had it long?”

 

“Not long, it was a recent gift from my parents. To take my mind off the bad press and everything, I suppose.”

 

I so badly want to smack the ignorance out of him, as you do. But, instead nod in understanding.    

 

“You’ve been through a lot, I get that.”

 

“Thanks. The whole thing has been misunderstood on so many levels,” he laughs to himself, coming down to stand beside me. “I hope it's not long until it’s moved on from, as harsh as that sounds.”  

 

“Well, as long as luck is in your favour,” I muse with a wink.

 

He leans on the car, slapping a hand on my shoulder.  

 

“You don’t need luck when you got people on your side. Believe me. My boys have my back no matter what. And the school? They do, too. Different reasons, but that doesn’t matter.”

 

“What do the other guys think of what’s going on? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

 

He takes his hand away and picks a piece a lint off his polo.  

 

“They haven’t said anything since it went down, but I’m not too worried.”

 

“Why not?”  

 

He looks me over, before meeting my eye again.  

 

“You a reporter or something, Thomas?”   

 

Doing my best to think on the spot, I come up with the first thing that my mind shouts at me to say and cross my fingers for the best.  

 

“Actually,” I reply smoothly, “I’m a new journalist for the school newspaper. I was so eager to meet you because the team has been hoping to interview you for the front page.”  

 

He frowns at the ground, muttering something to himself.   

 

“I thought I interviewed with one of you yesterday? How I knew Doug or something.”  

 

“Well, this is for another article. Focusing more on _your_ story. Who is the _real_ Jason Sanders is in all of this. Y’anno, what I consider interesting.”   

 

“You find me interesting?” he asks curiously, and I want to off myself at the thought of having to reply to that. How do you reply to that? I really wish I had prepared more for this, c’mon, think-

 

“ _Very_.” 

 

As soon as that innuendo leaves my mouth, I regret it immediately.   

 

Let me lay under this beautiful ride, and be run over repeatedly.

 

His eyes widen slightly, but otherwise he is unfazed.  

 

“I’m flattered. When would be a good time next week for your interview? I can do any time but Tuesday afternoon, since I’m getting this freshened up,” he says, gesturing at the frosted tips.

 

What a relief. He’s so obsessed with himself that he takes any come on as compliments. For once, I’m all for him keeping it up.  

 

“Uh, I’ll let you know. For now, how about a picture for the article?”

 

He agrees and insists on standing with the car for the picture. I quickly snap a few and send one to Ethan with our location. In the meantime, I keep him busy by going back and forth between the photos and agreeing to whatever features he says he likes best in each.    

 

Ethan comes in just as I’m getting antsy to get out of here, making sure to lock the door behind him.

 

Jason doesn’t even look up as he approaches us with his aviators on, as the self-loving frat boy is still swiping back and forth on my phone. It’s not until I grab the phone from him that his trance is broken.  

 

“Hold on, I wasn’t done with choosing filters - just give me a sec,” he urges, but I hold it out of his reach.

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Ethan says, before holding his pendant up to Jason’s neck and pulling the trigger.   

 

Instantly, Jason lets out a gurgling cry before falling on the ground.

 

“What the _fuck_ was that?” he gasps, clawing at the pockmark where the dart went it.

 

“Virgo,” Ethan retorts as if the answer was obvious, before crouching down beside him.

 

“Tell me about Douglas Hughes.”

 

“I’m not telling you anything,” Jason spits out, trying to grab Ethan’s collar through his drugged haze.

 

Ethan grabs him by the wrist and smacks Jason upside the head with his own hand, making him gasp in disbelief. 

 

“You hit me!”

 

“Technically, you hit yourself,” I grin, getting down on one knee to join them. “So, me and my partner here have heard quite a bit of stuff about you, which I guess isn’t so much gossip as it is damning evidence for how you played a role in the death of Mr. Hughes.”     

 

Jason glares at me, mouth curling into a snarl. 

 

“I did nothing. The kid slipped and got stuck at the bottom of the river. End of story.”

 

“Just another night of initiation, huh?” 

 

“Yeah, nothing changed. I was strict about that, and made Doug aware that we couldn’t be flexible before he did it.”

 

“Why was it important to make sure he knew that?” Ethan grilled, positioning the pendant so it was in plain sight in front of Jason within his hand.

 

Jason went to say something, but stopped himself. Instead, he remained silent and challenged Ethan in a standoff.

 

“Well?” I prompted, watching as the two of them fight for dominance.

 

“I have the right to remain silent,” Jason recited plainly.

 

Ethan cocked the weapon, making the other glance down at the pendant with not so hidden panic.

 

“We’re not the police.”

 

Jason swallowed heavily, looking down at the cement floor.  

 

“He couldn’t swim.”

 

I break the ironic good cop/bad cop routine and lean towards him with steadily rising anger. If I thought beating on him would feel good before, it definitely would now.

 

“You _knew_ he couldn’t swim, but made him do it anyway.”

 

“....Yeah, but I mean, no one has ever fallen-"

 

“You told everyone to wait until after he drowned before calling for help...didn’t you?”

 

"We were all so scared, I-"   

 

I stand up, turning my back to them and grabbing my pin-knife out of my back pocket. I press down on the handle until hearing the metallic slice of the blade flicking out of the bottom.

 

Bouncing it in my palm, I face them again, trying not to relish in the terrified expression that the once alpha leader is now sporting.  

 

“Jason, Jason, Jason. Or _Frosty_ , as we have heard, right? I bet that name does feel a bit icy after what has happened? Anyway, you clearly stand by what you have done and are not bothered by being a murderer-”    

 

“He- he couldn’t deal with whatever was thrown at him - not my fault,” he slurs out with irritation through half-lidded eyes, the dart seeming to be making progress in his system.  

 

I ignore this, turning to the car. 

 

“Jason, _things_ are easy to change. Take your car for instance. It’s perfect. Brand new, not a scratch on it. The fun part is, that can be easily fixed.”

 

With a flourish, I make a massive scratch where he can see. The blade screeches satisfyingly against the door, and I push in to make the cut even deeper. Meanwhile, Jason is attempting to scream at me through his state, which has now pretty much claimed his voice. His face is another story, though. He may be able to buy anything his sick little heart desires, but this reaction is priceless.   

 

“Oh, relax. Your parents will probably will be able to get you another ride in no time. But, that’s the thing. Doug’s parents won’t be able to get another of their son,” I sneer down at his still alert eyes, “He’s _gone_ , because of you. And, this whole time, you haven’t even considered what that kid or his grieving family are going through right now. Your _brothers_. All the other students who go here. Even if the school and the police were after you and this pledge of yours, I bet you still wouldn’t genuinely become a better person and do whatever you still could right. Those who are this far gone just don’t without force.”   

 

“Capricorn,” I mutter to Ethan, who shifts a gear in his pendant with his thumb before shooting our target into unconsciousness.           

 

**October 1st**

**11:02PM**

 

The hour was almost up, and social media had received our invitation loud and clear. Since leaving ARN headquarters with an unconscious frat boy thrown over Ethan’s shoulder, by using another exit in the garage that lead from the side of the house, I had been checking my phone in between stashing the body behind a tree and helping to set up the bonfire below the founder’s statue at the front. So far, the RSVP list was at three hundred and counting.       

 

Moving into the shade of the treeline where Jason was slumped against an oak, I shimmied out of my track pants and freed the bottom half of my costume underneath.   

 

“And now we wait,” I announce, tossing my pants somewhere behind me. None of this was mine anyway, just another get-up generously given from our local thrift store. Okay, more like taken, but that’s just an unimportant detail. I don’t slave away at a bar to spend it on throwaway disguises.   

 

Already out of his ensemble, Ethan pours some gasoline over the tepee of logs and newspaper.

 

“You remember what you’re going to say?”

 

He flicks his lighter open from a distance and tosses it into the pile, immediately sending up a gust of flame as it begins to build itself up.

 

“What?” I reply dumbly, pausing midway of taking my t-shirt off. “I’m doing that?”

 

He strolls over to me, swiping the shirt over the rest of my head. 

 

“Well, it is _your_ plan,” he says, “I just kind of assumed you would be in charge of leading the protest.” 

 

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead, to be honest.”

 

He watches me as I search my pockets for my eye paint and proceed to smear it on. Ethan remains silent, although his expression probably is saying all that needs to be known. When I can’t take it anymore, an annoyed sigh escapes me. 

 

“What?”

 

“Johnny, why did you think it was a good idea to not prepare anything?”  

 

I shrug, now tying the mask to the back of my head.   

 

“I dunno, it just feels like one of those things that can be winged in the moment.”

 

“And, you know this how?”

 

I actually do consider the question for a moment, staring down at our hostage for inspiration. He drools a little bit more on his chin, but otherwise doesn’t help.

 

“I’ll let you know how after.”

 

His eyes widen, clearly being worried about my lack of thought in this part of the plan. But then, he takes a breath and just shakes his head.   

 

“I’ll rescue you if it goes downhill,” he assures, the corner of his mouth upturning just slightly enough that I know that it’s all good.     

 

I don’t know if I’m starting to feel jittery about our protest. Or, am getting a chill from the soft wind breezing past. But unable to help myself, I stumble forward and embrace him tightly. He tenses for a moment, before wrapping his arms around me in return.       

 

We stand there for a moment, just enjoying a few seconds of each other’s company before getting back to business. I have my head resting on his shoulder, watching the bonfire glow and the smoke curl up and away behind him.

 

“Thank you,” I murmur into the material.     

 

He pulls away, gripping me by the shoulders. I immediately miss the contact, but suck it up with a pout.

 

“You’re going to do great,” he states firmly, squeezing my arms reassuringly.

 

“Really?”

 

He rolls his eyes, and I chuckle because he gets annoyed when questioned about something that he believes is fact.     

 

“Yes, _really_.”   

 

“Well, you just said you would rescue me if anything were to go wrong. Like, if I blank or something before being burned at the stake by our audience.”   

 

“Oh, I’m not too concerned about you. A talent for never shutting up is in your favour,” he comments dryly, “Anything outside of what you are doing might be a problem. That’s why I’ll be keeping an eye on everything else. Besides, public speaking isn’t all about what you say.”   

 

I blink at him, about to sarcastically reply with something about how that was something a once snobbish student such as he would say, when he cuts me off.   

 

“No - it’s true,” he argues, holding a finger up between us, “It’s about the passion you put into it that makes it persuasive. I’m not skilled at that, especially with a crowd of strangers, mind you. I remember a few times. It was mortifying.”   

 

His face scrunches up into a cringe at memories I would much rather be talking about, but let him continue his pep talk.   

 

“Now, as an extrovert, you have an advantage. Engage them as you naturally do,” he pauses, flicking his finger toward me, “And, crank that enthusiasm up. Sell your cause like a car salesman about to hit the jackpot.”  

 

“Well,” I say after a moment, rubbing my temples, “If Hitler can be persuasive, so can I.”    

 

Ethan frowns, pinching the spot in between his brows before glancing warily down at me.

 

“I mean, in any other case he shouldn’t be considered an example of what actions to follow.... _obviously_. But, sure. If that makes you feel better.”    

 

He walks over to Jason, nudging him lightly in the thigh with his boot. He doesn’t wake up in the slightest, the sedative drugs still apparently going strong for now.

 

“Where are we putting him? I was going to tie him up and lead him over to sit by us when he started waking, but he seems to be taking longer to move along than planned.”

 

Looking at our site, I search for ideas and unsuccessfully stop the shit-eating grin at the thought of my idea.

 

“I know a way we can give our friend a hand.”  

 

  
  
**October 1st**

**11:34PM**

 

It’s not long later when the protest is in full swing. There’s a huge crowd in front of me below the steps of the statue, a vibration of excitement radiating around phones that are held up to record and flash. Jason’s brothers have also decided to show up, but seem dumbfounded about what to do at the moment. Not only because Ethan is silently threatening them at the bottom of the steps, but because their leader is suspended in the air at the moment on top of Edgar J. Brentwood’s outstretched palm. He finally woke up, and is now screaming at me as I do the same toward the students. I know that my throat is going to be done for once this is over, and that we should have really brought a mic or something. But, I’m so into this right now I don’t care in the slightest.              

 

“It’s time to celebrate a _new year_ , Brentwood! I’ve seen what you have posted in frustration, anger, and disbelief. That you wish you could do something to make sure this never happens again, that your friend didn’t deserve this, that the fraternity needs to stop-”

 

“We’re not doing anything!” Jason seethes, on all fours and propped up on the statue’s fingers.

 

I glare up at him hotly, before carrying on my rant.

 

“Participating in something not because it is wanted, but because no other way has been done!”   

 

I get a small response of cheers and applause, with a mix of boos from the frat-boys. One of them makes his way forward towards me and Ethan trains his dart gun at him, stopping him on the spot.  

 

“If you want to end this now, you have what it takes to _cross this box off_ ! Make so much noise that no one, not the police, the school...the Frosty’s of Gotham can _March_ you away and force you to drown for silence. Just as Jason did to Douglas! The murderer on campus! Isn’t that right?” I spit, giving Jason the attention he wants.   

 

He’s still perched on the hand far above my head, looking like he wants to rip me to pieces.  

 

“Oh my fucking- are you all _actually_ believing this freak who shows up out of nowhere, drugs and kidnaps me to the other side of campus, then starts bending truth to convince all of you to what - give the fraternity a _makeover_?” he huffs out a laugh, “This is bullshit.”    

 

Jason swings a leg over the ledge of fingers, ready to climb down most likely to throw a punch, when I have to yell up at him again.

 

“You do realize that if you fall, you’re going to end up in the bonfire...right?”

 

He pauses and looks at the angle, before lifting himself onto the palm again with a scowl.        

 

“Choose who you want to believe, Brentwood,” I continue, pausing over a few faces for emphasis. “Those of you who know the truth don’t need me to _number it_ for you, anyway. Just know that Zodiac and I, Calendar Man, are on your side.”            

 

I glance over at the frat boys in the front, nodding to them. They look down and away, one of them grimacing as Jason hurls down another insult to Ethan.

 

Stepping forward on the platform of the statue, I raise a gloved fist into the air.

 

“The pledge ends here!”

 

The murmuring stops, Jason even keeping his mouth shut for what happens next. I feel a ripple  of definite nervousness roll through my stomach for the first time tonight, and squeeze my fist tighter. Turning to Ethan, he swallows before raising his pendant-free fist in the air as well.  

 

“For Douglas!”

 

The tension in the air breaks with that, hundreds of voices booming out that last prompt before flashes began flickering more than ever. We keep our pose, and I can’t help but grin at relief over to Ethan, who does the same my way.

 

As the audience begins yelling out “the pledge ends here” over and over, and Jason tries yet again to climb down, I hear the faint approach of sirens coming from the front gates.

 

Dropping my hand, I make my way over to the other side of the platform while taking a dramatic bow.

 

“That’s our cue to leave, everybody!” I attempt to call over the chanting crowd, “I hope you have enjoyed our _date_ as much as we have!”  

 

With that, Ethan pulls out what he named a “retrograde”, a small bundle of explosive smoke powder he somehow figured out how to make and wrap in gold paper, and throws it on the ground in front of us. For such a corny astrology reference, it somehow does what it implies and allows the illusion of us moving backwards.  

 

However, we’re disappearing altogether.

 

By running away.   

 

Yesterday, it took a couple times for him to explain the complicated pun at first, but I’m definitely getting it now that its being shown off.   

 

I’ve always been more of a visual learner, after all.

 

As the smoke bomb cracks and spurs to life, filling the courtyard with massive walls of thick cloud, Ethan and I sprint through the surrounding forest and away into the shadows.    

 

**October 2nd**

**6:44AM**

 

It feels like my head just hit the pillow when my phone starts buzzing on the nightstand. Eyes still smushed shut against the mattress, I fling my hand over the surface of the table before finding it.   

 

“Yeah?” I scratchily mumble, pulling the comforter over more and up to my chin. Beside me, Ethan yanks it back before rolling over onto his side.  

 

“Johnny! Turn on channel nine, you _have_ to see this!”

 

It’s Zoey, up irritatingly early as usual.

 

“Zo....it can wait. I’m busy doing nothing.”  

 

“Now!” she says, the edge in her voice making me groan into the earpiece as I fumble for the remote.    

 

Turning the TV on in front of me, I groggily wipe the crap out of my one eyelid as the number is punched in. Instantly, I see myself on the screen, the cameraman unsteady and footage clearly from last nights protest. Vicki Vale is blabbing some commentary on what it already obvious in the background, before switching to a compilation of tweets. I gasp when noticing the reoccuring hashtag.

 

#thepledgeendshere

 

_The pledge ends here._

 

I somehow wake up once realizing what is happening, hurriedly pushing myself up against the headboard.  

 

“No way!” I exclaim, smiling around my hand. She barks a laugh into the receiver.  

 

“I know, right? Well, these losers are doing more than anyone else right now, so I’ll give them that.”

 

The report then shifts over to Ms. Vale standing in the courtyard of Brentwood, a few meters away from where we were. The leftovers of the bonfire are still there, and there are a couple kids taking selfies by it. Jason must have somehow gotten down after we ditched, as the palm of the statue is empty. I was kind of hoping he would be forgotten, it took forever to get him up there.

 

“C’mon, they’re slightly better than losers. Especially turtleneck,” I tease.

 

I reach over to shake Ethan awake. He rolls over groggily and I put a finger to my lips and then point to the screen. I watch him look over, squint carefully before it hits him, then grabbing his glasses from the nightstand on his side.      

 

Zoey snorts in a typical unladylike manner.  

 

“Oh, so that’s what does it for you, huh?”  

 

“Mm, totally.”

 

She sighs happily into the receiver, before speaking again in that matter-of-fact tone of voice that makes it clear why her and Ethan get along when they have something to nerd out over.   

 

“Okay, I got to get ready for work. To be continued!”

 

“Will do.”

 

After hanging up, I sit quietly for a moment with my phone before the conversation and everything else is combined in my head. When it does, I faceplant forward into the bed and roll off onto the floor in a lazy summersault.   

 

“Good morning to you, too,” Ethan greets, before walking past me into the kitchen.           

 

**October 5th**

**2:34AM**

 

Over the next few days, things related to the Brentwood case really pick up. One minute I’m making calendar related puns as I rally a group of University boys to stand up for themselves, and the next they have gathered the nerve to do just that. Ethan and I mainly supervise from above during this time at night, when the action tends to happen. Travelling protests, candlelight vigils, on-site interviews for GNN. When the revolt begins to get more aggressive, in the form of riots, trespassing, and vandalizing, we also take a back seat. The only thing so far that was broken up was when a student not in the fraternity started beating on one that was in the streets. Ethan settled the feud with a brief, but effective compromise, and got them back on track. It may seem counterintuitive to some, that injustice is being fought with more wrong doings. Two wrongs don’t make a right. Or, three. Four. Whatever it may be at this point. However, I never liked settling problems quietly when negative attention could be used to do something more useful. And, be faster in results. If bending morality here and there to achieve a better future is not the way to play fair, I guess I’ll just have to pretend to be sorry when others reach the finish line.        

 

For example, the night after our gig at Brentwood, students had their first walk-out and protest, and Brentwood faculty and administration announced an emergency meeting. The GCPD stationed officers at either side of Westward Bridge after daylight hours, and all funding for the fraternity was suspended until further notice.

 

This all happened after _one_ day.

 

If being passive to a few flaming trash cans and broken storefront windows makes me a bad person, so be it. Strength comes from working together, so I like to think not only are we encouraging life skills to impressionable youth, but are teaching them that being expelled can be avoided if no one is singled out.

 

Sure, the students have been warned a few times via email. But, has anything more happened?

 

Damn right, of course not!  

 

As usual, the GCPD are on patrol as of now, looking for us fiends. Batman and Robin are likely doing the same. As much as they argue that they are separate from the police, they have a funny way of being just as predictable.  

 

Well, when I’m paying attention.

 

I’m down the street from Ethan, crouched on a rooftop behind a smokestack and looking for other coordinates to check on, when a blow from my shoulders slams me down. I feel someone kneel on my back, before I reach behind swiftly and grab their arm to flip them over my head.

 

The heap lands in front me, sapphires widening up at me from the pavement.

 

“Kiddo, I really don’t have time for this right now,” I scold, getting to my feet and putting my phone back into my pocket.  

 

“You’ll have lots of time after I’m through with you!” says Robin in return.

 

He practically catapults into a skip as he charges towards me, mouth curled into a determined frown much like his mentor. It would be adorable if I were in more of a jolly mood.  

 

I thrust my hand out and it smacks against his forehead, his arms straining out to grab me.

 

“Be a good birdie and poop on someone else for now, hmm?”  

 

He grumbles something under his breath, trying to dodge under my hand, but keeps being met with it again.

 

“I might have heard something about Egghead constructing a giant metal chicken in some warehouse downtown, maybe check that out?”

 

He finally steps back, folding his arms.  

 

“Stop trying to distract me!”  

 

“I would _never_!” I gasp, fluttering a hand to my chest. He gives me a deadpan that says a few different things.   

 

Robin hardly meets my shoulder, but has enough wit to lift him up a couple of invisible inches sometimes.     

 

“I’ve been instructed by Batman to arrest and place you in the station until this mess you and Zodiac have caused is put under control.”

 

He steps back and pulls out a pair of black handcuffs with metallic bat wings on the sides, holding them up for me to see.

 

I scoff, tilting my head.

 

“And, what makes the dynamic duo think we don’t have this under control?”

 

He reaches into a pocket I didn’t want to know existed, pulling out a packet of fruit gushers.

 

“So, that’s where that went,” he says to himself, shoving them into his breast pocket for safekeeping, not before taking one out and tossing it into his mouth.

 

Wrinkling my nose, I turn away as he rummages again. Pulling out a piece of paper, he reaches over to hand it to me.

 

“Uh - I would hate to spoil it." 

 

Robin gets the hint, unfolding it and giving it a quick scan. He clears his throat before reading off a list most likely written in advance by the Dark Knight.   

 

“Destruction of public property, disturbing the peace, trespassing...”

 

He lists a dozen more charges in a monotone before I cut him off.

 

“Still under control,” I argue, as a smash echos from below, a car alarm wailing obnoxiously.

 

Robin just stares back at me, as the alarm continues to blare across the street.   

 

Finally breaking the well-timed evidence on his part, he holds up the restraints again. 

 

“Last chance,” he warns, wiggling the handcuffs. They sway and clink together, the only source of light being a street lamp over a block away.   

 

“Well then, _May_ I not waste the opportunity,” I counter haughtily, before lunging forward and whipping out my pin-knife from its holder under my pant leg.

 

We duke it out, him flipping out of the way as I slice and dice in his direction. At one point, I kick him in the chest, taking the moment he stumbles backwards to uppercut him under the jaw. He rebounds fast, punching me in the gut before getting a solid punch to my temple.

 

I drop to the roof, feeling my head bounce off the pavement as ringing in my ears overpowers the car alarm still going strong.

 

Just as I fade out, I can taste the blood in my mouth and feel the metal tighten around my wrists.     

 

**October 5th**

**?????**

 

I jolt awake.

 

The side of my head faintly pulses, and my mouth feels dry and yet sticky. Sitting up from what seems to be a patch of cement, I assume that I’m still on the rooftop. Did Robin just leave me here, or-

 

“Rise an’ shine, about time you woke up.”          

 

I slowly look over to where I think the voice is coming from, shielding my sight from the fluorescent bulbs with a wince behind my hands.  

 

That’s when I notice the handcuffs.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“Police station. I’m keeping an eye on you while Batman finds your partner and sorts out the rest,” Robin cheerfully recites, leaning back in the chair he has planted in front of my cell and picking at nail on his ungloved hands. Besides the bruising on his knuckles, he looks perfectly intact.

 

“Another officer took your phone,” he continues. “So, you won’t be able to give your buddy a heads up or anything. You know, the _ushe_.”      

 

“How very sensible of you.”

 

He smiles cheekily at me, shuffling his gloves back on. 

 

I slide back until I can feel the wall through my costume. Scanning outside my new crib  casually. There isn’t much in my cell anyway, the highlight being a bare mattress with weird stains and that smells like cheese in the sun for too long. Besides Robin, who was now flipping through a magazine, there were a couple cells on either side of mine and a door at the end of the hallway to the left.   

 

“If you’re looking for an escape route, not gonna happen,” Robin says without looking up, “I think Wonder Woman is also stationed outside. So, good luck with that.”  

 

I knew he was playing with me. Wonder Woman wouldn’t waste her time with an idiot like me. Not like Batman, he goes after _anyone_ , it seems. I wouldn’t be surprised if he even accuses people of doing unjust things to have an excuse to deal with them before anyone else, adding to his ego when he saves the day. Yet again.

 

Robin seems to be following in his footsteps just fine.

 

“Really? I must be a huge deal! Can you run outside and get me an autograph?” I ask, sarcastic and a little impatient at this point.   

 

He licks his finger before turning another glossy page.   

 

Then, an idea sparks.

 

I don’t need Robin to totally believe me. He isn’t gullible, despite sometimes faking it for whatever reason when with Batman. Being able to lie my way out of this on the spot, without coming off as a total creep in this scenario, just might be possible if I can make the lie too concerning to ignore.          

 

“Sooo,” I begin, folding my hands in front of me. 

 

He glances up.

 

“Have you heard about, you know...October 5th....it’s an occasion.”  

 

“There’s nothing going on today.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong, _sir_. It’s...the anniversary of....the.” I hesitate, racking my brain for something that would get his attention.

 

Robin gets up out of his chair and turns to leave the corridor, apparently done with my ramble. I decide to just blurt out something that might screw me over even more.  

 

“The Westward bridge! The anniversary of Westward bridge!”   

 

He stops, whipping around and marching over to my cell.

 

“What have you done?” 

 

I laugh bitterly, really caking on the theatrics to stall.

 

“You thought the party was over, boy wonder? If you thought your feathers were ruffled now, just wait until...” I pause, cradling my head in my hand.

 

“Until what?”  

 

“Oh, y’anno. Just a little firework display strapped under a beam. That will go off shortly.”  

 

He looks me over carefully. I remain on the floor, waiting to see if my strategy had any sort of win that could be worked with.    

 

“When?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“ _When_ is it set to go off?”

 

“It wouldn’t be very fun if I told you, would it?”

 

With that, Robin turned his back to me and turned a gear on the wristband he was sporting.

 

He cleared his throat, before announcing into the gadget with a chipper voice, “We’ve got a booming situation, Batman.”     

 

He walks to the other end of the hall for privacy, although there isn’t much of it when Robin’s responses still echo.

 

“You can’t come right now?”

 

“They locked the Dean inside?”

 

“Yeah, I can handle that.”

 

“I’ll be careful.”

 

“Yeah. Okay.”  

 

“Kisses to you, too.”      

 

He comes back, stopping for a moment to point at me.  

 

“You’re going to take me to where you planted that thing. Right now.”            

 

**October 5th**

**????????????????**

 

We end up leaving from the station on his motorcycle.

 

Well, he’s on the bike, and I’m smushed into a sidecar attached to it with my hands cuffed.   

 

Westward Bridge finally comes into view when I’m almost convinced that my legs are going to fall off from being cramped up so much, a few officers being the only ones there besides us.

 

Robin helps me out of the seat with an outstretched hand, and we make our way over to the entrance across from where we parked, his grip holding on to my forearm. It takes a minute to shake out a pitiful limp, my baby-faced babysitter thankfully not calling me out for it. I mean, getting slammed in the face is not really a problem afterwards, but an uncomfortable drive somehow did it. Based on the fact that his posture slightly relaxed at seeing the bridge still intact, he was probably obsessing over that at the moment instead of my graceful dance.    

 

“Robin,” a lanky policeman with a mustache nods, his partner doing the same.

 

“Evening, gentlemen,” he smiles warmly, “I’ll need you to clear the perimeter until it is deemed safe. Just following orders.”   

 

“What’s the concern?”

 

“Bomb threat at this location, sir.”

 

His gaze flicks to me, and I give a little wave in response. 

 

“And....he’s here...why?”

 

“I have a name, you know,” I yawn, but Robin carries on with his routine. 

 

“He stated a possible confession of being responsible for this attack. With his assistance, I can remove it in time if need be.”  

 

We’re able to pass shortly later, Robin confirming at least three times that I would be be secured before they let us through. He mutters something about age discrimination under his breath as he pulls me along, away from the now retreating cops.   

 

Two down, one to go.

 

“Okay,” he coaches, “Show me where it is.”  

 

“What if I don’t? You know who is a bit too busy to scare the info out of me, remember?”

 

“Then, we will walk this bridge until dawn if we have to. Add a bit more time to your sentence.”

 

“As much as those plans sound solid....no.”

 

He lifts his chin at me before tugging at my arm, beginning a brisk pace.   

 

“Walk.”  

 

I do what he tells me to, while trying to piece together my next step. Obviously, I don’t have a massive bomb to blow up this bridge, as cool as that sounds.

 

I’m also over trying to make up another getaway crime on the spot, as that strategy is a one play per incarceration type of deal. At least for me, anyway.

 

I’m thinking my options over as we pace Westward Bridge, the water lazily rolling beneath our feet. Robin keeps a firm grip on my arm, and I’d rather not try and run in case he has a bat-taser or something.   

 

No, to get out of here, I’ll just have to surprise him with one of my toys, too.   

 

Despite being searched and confiscated of all weapons while knocked out, I still have a trick up my sleeve.

 

Or, more like in my glove.

 

“Stop,” I say flatly, looking over to Robin. “It should be right around here.”

 

“We’ve passed this spot four times. You’re now remembering?” he asks skeptically.

 

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”  

 

He lets me lead to the stone ledge, and I peer over the side to check out the iron framework underneath.  

 

“Right there - behind that one angled piece just above the water. It’s..attached to the metal on the opposite side.”

 

“That piece there?”  

 

“Yep.”

 

Robin nods towards the spot I’ve randomly chosen, and then glances to me. When I give him a _what do you want from me_ expression, he looks between me and the water.

 

“Well? Go ahead.”

 

“You expect me to climb down with my hands cuffed?”

 

“I have no doubt you can’t, Calendar Man.”

 

I climb up onto the ledge and find a way to hook my feet onto a beam just below where my feet can step down. He looks down on me as I balance myself out a couple feet below. 

 

“You alright?” he calls down, his hands hovering out just in case he needs to hold me in his dish glove grip again. 

 

“Just peachy. I could probably do a flip on here if you wanted me to.”

 

“Not really,” he replies, “The last thing we need is you falling in.”

 

“Aw, no fun! Just look, no hands!” I grin wickedly, throwing my hands up and then squeezing my fingers on my right into the bottom of my palm. Instantly, a gust of black ink powder shoots up and into his face.

 

Robin yelps, stumbling back from the ledge while furiously rubbing his eyes. It won’t do much besides blind him for a few minutes and leave him with a chimney-sweep look until he scrubs it off, but it’s all the distraction I need. Quickly climbing back up and leaping over the ledge, I bolt it past the kid, who is still stumbling around in circles, and make my way towards the motorcycle. 

 

I think that I’ve outrun him when my collar is suddenly yanked back, causing me to trip. Through his teary closed eyes, he swings at my face with a fist. At this point, I‘ve definitely had enough for one night. I block him and hook one _hard_ to him in return, and he miraculously gets knocked out with a bloody nose. 

 

Shaking out my fist, I then give a salute to the boy wonder before taking off again.

 

The cops are still off somewhere waiting for us to finish up, and I don’t take any chances of them finding me as I drive the opposite way outta there.                   

 

**October 7th**

**7:45PM**

**Aftermath**

 

Two days pass and the voices of the students have been heard. ARN will remain intact as long as the traditional initiation process, including the pledge, are removed completely. Instead, new candidates will be involved in more extracurriculars with the group as they go through the motions, now being able to openly negotiate if any of these activities may be a problem. But, I think there won’t be many complaints, as running a fundraiser together is less stressful than walking a bridge wasted. From what I have read, the boys in the fraternity are looking forward to the changes overall. It’s interesting to see their opinions so public, now that their supreme overlord can’t influence them not to.            

 

Speaking of Frosty, he will have no need for his frat name anymore. He will be the only one to be expelled from Brentwood, now that the full story on his involvement before and during the drowning has been uncovered. I hear that charges are also pending, so that’s interesting.

 

The Brentwood kids who were involved in the protests didn’t get off completely free, though. To make up for damages and whatever they have to do some community service hours on weekends for a couple months.   

 

Oh well. If they’re put out about that, they can take it out on the cans with their stabby stick.

 

To top it off, Brentwood is in the process of handcrafting a memorial plaque for Westward Bridge. They are also covering the debt of Douglas’ funeral in full, along with any additional services for the family, such as grief counselling, for a year. These peace offerings are by no means a sudden result of genuine compassion for the family. Brentwood still remains another corrupt institution, driven by self-preservation instincts over anything. I only know a small piece of what secrets are being held. But, their intentions aside, what has happened is at least a few steps in the right direction.    

 

Ethan and I are now at the funeral of Douglas Hughes, perched on the roof of a cathedral where the service is being held. It’s a fitting way to attend for a couple of troublemakers, as we can watch through the skylight while crouched in the shadows. It’s packed inside, filled with similar looking family and other connections. I recognize lots of Brentwood students, including members of ARN, who surround the perimeter of the chapel. Right now, there is a candlelight procession down the aisles, people in black moving through bunches of burgundy flowers.  

 

“It’s really quite something, huh?” I murmur.

 

Ethan makes a hum of agreement as the faint echo of a hymn begins to play on the organ.

 

“Do you think we could have done more?”

 

He breaks his gaze from the glass, light gleaming off his emerald eyes.

 

“Honestly?”   

 

“Yeah.”   

 

“Whether or not we could have done more, I believe we served our purpose. That’s all that matters.”

 

He wraps an arm around my waist as we continue to watch.

 

“Being qualified is not a concern when it comes down to doing right.” 

 

“And, raising a little hell to make it interesting?” I smile, looking over to him.

 

“Absolutely.”        

  



End file.
